Dead Frontier/Issue 105
This is Issue #105 of Dead Frontier, titled The End, Part I. ''This is the third Issue in '''Volume 18.' Issue 105- The End, Part I Cole’s eyes snap open, and he sits up straight, placing a hand to his heart. His abrupt awakening has him disoriented for a second, as does the tightening sensation in his chest, and he looks around him. He lies in his bed, the space to his left empty; unsurprising, given it’s nearly noon. He slowly lays his head back down on his pillow and closes his eyes again. Details of the nightmare he just had quickly disappear, as they always do, leaving only small bits and pieces of it in his memory. But the terrible, daunting feeling he has afterward still lingers. Like it always does. He grabs the clothes strewn on the floor around his bed and gets dressed. Afterward, he continues his morning routine: drinking a cold glass of water, and brushing his teeth and fixing his hair in the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he pushes his hair back from his forehead and leans in closer to his reflection; he mutters a few curses under his breath when he spots two strand of grey among the light hairs. Just another consequence of his stress. He goes to open the door, his hand on the knob, when he hears a thud from below. He’s only on the first floor (he’d been transferred to a lower floor to compensate for his leg. The less stairs he has to climb, the better.), so the sound can only come from the lobby. He exits the bathroom, and limps to the front door. He presses his ear against the wood and listens intently. He can hear other doors opening from inside the hall, and mutters of confusion. Then, a scream and the pounding of footsteps. It doesn’t take much thought to know something isn’t right; he goes to the kitchen and pulls open drawers, sifts through cabinets. He’s forgotten where he keeps his gun, but eventually finds it hidden under rags in one of the drawers. He places it into his waistband before opening the door and exiting into the hallway, right into the mass confusion. People run, looking behind them. A few still linger in the doorway like he does. “What the hell’s going on?” Cole shouts to a balding man peeking out his door. The man just shrugs, but his expression makes him look uneasy. As he tries again to get answers, someone nearly runs into him, knocking them both off balance. He steadies himself, and sees that it’s Lucy. “What’s going on?” he asks again, but she pushes him back into the room and shuts the door before answering. “There are people out there,” she says. Her eyes are frantic, and she runs a hand through her hair as she sets her back against the door. “They killed the guards, they got past the gates, and now they’re inside--I don’t know how they did it, but they did.” “Okay. Okay,” he says slowly, trying to calm himself. “Where’s everybody going?” “I don’t know. Maybe trying to leave through the back doors.” “They might’ve come in through that way, too.” “Exactly.” “We can either run, or we can hide in here,” he suggests. “We’re on the first floor; these are the first rooms they’d check,” she says. “So we go out there--and then what?” “And we find a way out.” “Yeah, that’s great,” he says, more harshly than he intended to. He falters at the sound of gunshots, but manages to keep his focus. “You’ve got a--a fucking stampede out there, and guys with guns.” “And your suggestion is to wait in here until they find us.” She sighs and closes her eyes in attempts to get her thoughts in order. The layout of the hotel flashes through her mind, and she begins to think of an alternate route of escape. “Okay. If we...if we go down the back stairwell, there should be an emergency exit. There might be two; I don’t remember. But instead of going to the lobby, we’ll have to make a left. Maybe...thirty feet down and there’s a door.” “Are you sure?” he asks. “It’s the only idea I have.” So that means it’s their only choice. He opens the door and grabs her hand. He hesitates for a few seconds before leading her out into the hallway again. He winces at each step; every time his right foot hits the ground, he feels a sharp pain shoot up his leg, but he ignores it for now. No one has time for manners now: people bump into each other, push one another out of the way to save themselves. The stairwell shouldn’t take that long to reach, but the hallway is backed up with people, most not even aware of the seriousness of the situation. “Move!” someone shouts, and he shoves Cole out of the way. Cole loses his footing, feels his leg twist in an odd direction, and nearly screams at the white-hot pain that engulfs his knee. He lets go of Lucy’s hand and falls to the ground. He scoots against the wall, and Lucy crouches down next to him. “What happened? Are you okay?” she asks. “No, no,” he mutters, clutching his knee. He nearly tears up at the agony. “You’ve gotta stand up.” He dares to try and stand; his leg explodes with pain, and he wants to collapse again, but she keeps him on his feet. He takes another step, but the pain is nearly blinding. “Stop, stop. Holy shit,” he says. He’s out of breath from the effort of walking, and he’s forced to stop. “I’m sorry, but we can’t take a break right now,” she says. “I’m serious--I can’t,” he says. He takes a second to catch his breath, then pulls the pistol from his waistband and hands it to her. “You don’t have to take a break, but I can.” “What?” She doesn’t take the gun, so he places it in her hand for her. “You know where the exit is...and you’ve got two working legs.” “Are you serious? You can’t be serious.” “I’ll be right behind you, okay?” He sees her start to tear up, and he forces himself from doing the same. “Find the exit, and I’ll find a way out, too. I always do, right?” She searches his eyes for some sign that he’s joking, but there is none. “''No'',” she snaps. “Come on.” She tugs on his arm, but he resists stubbornly. “You’re wasting your time, Lucy.” “I’m not. Come on.” “I can’t fucking walk! And you said it yourself: they’re gonna check out the lower floors first.” She opens her mouth to protest, but before she can he places his hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re gonna run that way and keep going until you find your way out. I’m telling you, I’m gonna be right behind you. Just go.” “Stop fucking around and let's go." Someone accidentally bumps into him, muttering a quick “sorry,” but Cole ignores it. “Listen, I get that you don't want to, but this is your life we're talking about,” he says. “If you’re gonna go, you have to go now.” She hesitates, not only silently building up her courage but also trying to deal with the guilt of leaving him behind. But there's no question that this is what he wants, and no amount of defiance on her part is going to change his mind. "I'll be right behind you," he repeats. She hesitates briefly, then gives him a kiss--one she wishes could last longer--but there's a burst of gunfire from down the hall. Her cue to flee. She gives him one last desperate, sorrowful look before turning away, following everyone else. He keeps his eye on her for just a second, but she soon disappears into the crowd. ---- Lienne and Duke have barely moved from their spots in the studio. At the first sound of commotion, Duke looks to the panel in front of him--a mess of flashing, different colored buttons--and flips a switch. The illuminated ‘ON AIR’ sign above their heads goes dim and their eyes meet, their looks reflecting the other’s anxiousness. Without a word, Duke reaches under one of the panels and pulls out a drawer, retrieving a small pistol. He rises first and approaches the door. Lienne follows him soon after; she peeks over his shoulder as he opens it. It's a whirlwind of panic directly outside. People flee in random directions, pushing strangers and friends alike out of the way to save their own skin. Duke closes the door slowly. "I don't know what the fuck's going on," he says before turning to her. Before she can respond, they hear the first of the gunfire. Their expressions immediately shift from fierce apprehension to pure fear. "You heard that?" Lienne asks. She silently hopes that it wasn't what she thought it was. "Come on," he says, opening the door. "Whoa, whoa, whoa." She grabs him by the arm, preventing him from leaving. "What the hell? Shouldn't we think about this?" "We probably don't have time. I don't know what's happening out there, but it ain't good. So we either gotta find out what's going on, or get out." She looks uncertain, as anyone would be, but he reassures her: "I've got this." He lifts the pistol. "Just stay by me." ---- Tora never knew she could be so grateful for an old storage closet. It's her only refuge from the chaos right outside the door. She does a quick scan of the room; it's larger than your average supply closet, with labeled crates and boxes lining the back. They mostly contain ammunition of different types--but no guns. The boxes are heavier than she anticipated, so, she slides them across the concrete and over to the door. It's the only way she can think of barricading it. She's only got six boxes--one set of three on the bottom, and another three on top--before she hears a bang on the door. She jolts backward, nearly cowering into a corner. "Hey! Hey!" someone shouts from the other side. "I saw you go in there! I'm not one of them, I ain't gonna hurt you! I'm Dre Lewis, I live here, too. You gotta let me in, it's fuckin' crazy out here." He pauses, waiting anxiously for a response. But Tora hesitates. She doesn't want to take chance of the not-so-nice guys realizing this room is occupied. For all she knows, they could be chasing him down. The only problem is, he isn't a stranger she can disconnect herself from and leave to defend themselves without any guilt. Sure, she may not have said more to him than a simple hello, but she knows who he is. She's seen him chatting with Lienne almost everyday, and even heard about him taking extra guard shifts and supply run rotations just because of his own unselfishness. It doesn't take her long to kick the boxes out of the way and open the door. He stumbles inside, nearly tripping on a crate of ammunition, and slams the door shut, pressing his back against it. He's out of breath, from anxiousness or exhaustion she can't tell, but he manages to smile at her. She notices a small cut on his cheek, then another under his eye. "Thanks," he says. "I--I had some guys on me. They--" "They didn't follow you here, did they?" "No! It was back by the escalators. One of 'em tried to get the jump on me, but I got a good hit to his face and took his gun before he could really mess me up. I only got this." He refers to the cuts on his face, pointing to his cheek. "You still have the gun?" she asks. "Oh--oh, yeah." He opens up his jacket and pulls out a pistol, the surface scuffed and dull from years of use. "Can you use it?" "Uh, yeah. But I--uh, I can't." "You can...but you can't? I'm sorry, but we really don't have time for shit like this." "No, what I mean is I know how...but I just don't. I don't kill people is what I'm saying." "This is the absolute worst time for your morals to come into play. They're not strangers out there; they're people that want to kill us." His face softens, and she can sense a bit if shame in his look. She feels a wave of shame wash over herself, too: she's actually scolding this guy for not wanting to take a life. She's not sure if she should respect him or question his naivety. "You take it," he offers, holding the gun out to her. She grabs it with a nod and inspects it immediately. Only two bullets. "There's ammo in these boxes. Start looking for some we can use," she says. "Alright...but what comes after that?" "We can either stay in here and risk them busting the damn door down, or we can use this--" She holds up the gun. "--to our advantage and get out." "Sounds like you want the second option." "Is that fine with you?" "Yeah, that's cool," he says. He looks down to the box at his feet, opens it up, and begins looking for the correct ammunition. She does the same with some boxes stacked behind her. The commotion outside acts as a guide for time: the more hectic it sounds, the less time they know they have. "I never got your name, by the way," Dre says, not looking up from the current box he searches. "Tora." "Alright. Here, Tora," he says, throwing her a red box of ammunition. She catches it easily, and he slides another similar box in his pocket. "You ready?" ---- Lienne keeps hold on Duke's arm, but she's still nearly washed away in the mess of people. It's a mix of hostiles and innocents, but she tries not to take the time to decipher who's who. But she does notice something odd. It's not a full-on massacre as she expected it was. Besides the occasional person or group, no one's gunned down mercilessly. Whoever these people are, they want to take as many people alive as possible. They knock people to the ground, bind their arms, carry them away like oversized sacks of flour. But they don't murder, if they don't need to. Their plan of escape to the back lot needs some rethinking; when they reach the back doors, they see it flooded with people trying to escape but being pushed back inside by men with guns. Her and Duke freeze, planning to double back and find another exit. Their second of hesitation gives a tall man--fair haired with a thick, ungroomed beard-- the chance to approach from behind and whack Duke in the head with the butt of his gun. Bright flashes of light cross his vision as pain erupts in his head, and he falls forward. Lienne doesn't have time to react as someone smacks her across the face with the back of their hand. She hits the floor, too, hand on her mouth as blood rages from her lip. The man looming over her (he's similar in stature to Duke's assailant, but with darker, curly hair) is barely visible through her blurred vision, caused by a mixture of tears and dizziness from the sudden blow to the face. The man gives her a firm kick to the stomach. She inhales quickly and painfully in attempts to replace all the air suddenly expelled from her lungs. He reaches over, grabs her by the hair, and lifts her from the floor, trying to ignore her kicking and screaming. He turns her around one hundred and eighty degrees and presses her front against the nearest wall. Out of her peripheral vision, she can see Duke being dragged away, his body motionless. "Stop...fucking moving!" the man orders as he struggles to pull something from the pack attached to his waist. He sighs, and twists her arm roughly to get her to stay still. She feels a sharp stab of pain shoot from her forearm up to her elbow. He finally retrieves a cable tie from his bag, one of those familiar plastic ties used to keep wires and cables in place. Lienne's finally coming to her senses at this point, her dizziness fading. Her arms are held tightly behind her back, hindering them useless, so her first idea is to throw her head back. She hears a simultaneous crack and a yell as the back of her head collides with the man's nose, and she spins immediately. His hands cover his mouth, blood seeping through his fingers already. But he quickly recovers, and as she goes to throw a punch, he catches her fist and slams her into the wall again. A fierce rage engulfs his face, and he grabs her by the throat this time. She grabs at his hands, trying to release his grip, but he won't budge. Ideas whirl around in her head as she feels her consciousness slowly fading. Her eyes wander, until they lock on the belt, where the handle of a knife practically beckons her. She musters the strength to turn her head, wriggling a little from his grasp, and bites him on the end of his forefinger. She breaks the skin, drawing blood, and one hand releases from her throat. She takes a quick gasp of air then kicks him in the knee; even she cringes as she sees it bend backward in an unnatural direction. He struggles to stand, so she takes this moment to grab him by the shoulder so he stays upright and snatches the knife from its holster. But she doesn't stab him. She doesn't want to waste the time, nor does she want to argue with herself about whether or not this guy deserves a blade to the heart and if she has the courage to deliver that fatal blow. So she runs instead, aware that the damage to his leg will leave him incapable of chasing her. ---- Duke's body is dragged carelessly across the hall leading into a lobby. He can see the lush red carpet passing by his blurred vision and the people rushing by him. He manages to look up, where the fair haired man sweats with the effort of hauling him. The man stops, uses his forearm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and waves someone over. A guy in a conspicuous blue jacket jogs toward him. "Help me with this guy," the man says. "Is he conscious?" Blue Jacket asks. "Not sure," the man says, crouching down to grab Duke's legs. But Duke uses the little strength he has left to kick his leg, the bottom of his shoe smashing into the man's mouth. Blue Jacket reaches for a weapon at his side, but Duke applies another kick, hitting him right between the legs. He lets out a high screech and collapses to the floor in unbearable pain. Duke ignores the throbbing pain in the back of his head and scrambles to his knees. He crawls over to Blue Jacket and turns him onto his back. Duke grabs the two weapons he has: a revolver and a hatchet with a clean steel blade. Blue Jacket tries to grab for him, but Duke slaps his arm away and gives the hatchet a hard swing, right into his forehead. He pulls it out, the blade now tainted with a fresh layer of red, and retreats the way they came. Right back for Lienne. ---- The emergency exits were a failure. They led right into the garden, where fresh crops of vegetables have been growing for the past few weeks. The assailants had already infiltrated that area when Lucy reached it, and she was forced right back into the hotel. She's not sure if they saw her, but she didn't wait to find out. Her path now is unclear. She's not sure where she's going; just that she has to keep moving, no matter the circumstances. She zips through the corridor leading to the cafeteria, along with around twenty others in front or behind her. Rooms line the walls--storage closets, the occasional office--and people foolishly attempt to hide inside them. She keeps pushing forward, though, until she nearly runs into the man in front of her. He stops abruptly, frozen for just a second before turning and sprinting in the opposite direction. A group of men, rifles slung over their shoulders, stand at the end of the hallway at the entrance of the cafeteria. They've already captured a couple people, and a few of them turn their focus on the others. Lucy follows the crowd back the other way. There are gunshots, but they don't hit many--they mostly ricochet off the floor and walls. She realizes it's just an attempt to frighten them, to scare them into submission. A few do, collapsing to their knees and placing their hands behind their heads immediately. She turns a corner, out of the corridor and into the lobby. The mass of people here is considerably less. She forces their true fates to the back of her mind--most obviously didn't fare well, but she lets herself think they may have escaped. Heading to the back doors is the next course of action she can think of, unaware of the chaos at that section of the hotel. She doesn't let her feet stop moving, until she hears someone call her name, and she dares to turn her head for a split second. He's a hotel resident, with tanned skin and dark hair slicked back with sweat. He wears a pair of shorts and an orange shirt dotted with blood. She notices his lips is bleeding. She can't recall his name, though... He looks desperate, so she slows her pace just a little. Perfect for him, because it gives him the time to catch up to her and, before she can say anything, give her a quick, powerful punch to the stomach. The sudden mix of pain and confusion hit her instantly, and she feels lightheaded. What is he doing...? And then, he snatches the gun from her. Of course. There are no friends during a time like this, no acquaintances you've been living with for a over a year. She grabs at his arm, aware that the gun being out of her control is a terrible loss. He tugs away from her grasp easily. This pulls her forward slightly, and in her already unstable state, she collapses to her knees, arms clutched around her abdomen. He looks down at her apologetically, sincerely sorry, but he can't waste any more time; he runs, soon disappearing. Lucy's still struggling for air when two sets of feet make their way across her vision. Her eyes slowly move up, taking in the two figures. Black boots, dark jeans, one bald and the other a woman with graying blonde hair. Their looks are completely devoid of any emotion. "Holy shit, we hit the jackpot right here," the man says, and a small laugh escapes him. But the small smile he holds fades as he crouches down in front of her. "I wonder how much you're worth..." Worth."" The word rings in her ears, accompanying her rapidly speeding heartbeat. ''Worth, worth, worth... The pieces fall into place: this isn't some simple, mindless massacre.'' The woman walks behind her and grabs her by the wrists. Something plastic and rough is tied around them; it digs into her skin harshly, but the woman continues to tie the binds. "Man, we're talkin'...how much, you think?" the man continues, referring to his comrade. He grabs Lucy gently by the chin and tilts her face this way and that, searching for any blemishes or scars. A feeling of disgust rises in her stomach. "A few carts of meds, maybe," the woman says. She grabs Lucy by the arm and tries to pull her to her feet, but she pulls her arms away. The woman just chuckles. Her laugh is cut short by a bullet to the head. Lucy only hears a gunshot and the thud of a body behind her. The man soon receives the same fate; blood splatters her face and clothes as a bullet glides through his head, through one end and out the other smoothly. She turns her head to see Duke with a gun pointed in her direction. She rises to her feet and rushes to him. Some of the other attackers in the vicinity have turned their attention to them, so Duke fires a few shots at them to buy Lucy a little more time. When she's near, he grabs her by the arm, fires one last shot to be safe, then leads her away. They turn a corner, then another into a relatively narrow, quiet corridor. "Come on, turn around," he says. She complies, and he uses the hatchet to cut through her bindings. "Where the hell'd you come from?" she asks as he works, her breath coming in short bursts. "I came back this way looking for Lienne. Couldn't find her, then I saw you. Perfect timing." "Thanks." "Don't worry about it," he says, cutting through the plastic tied to her wrists. She turns to him and rubs the sore skin on her wrists. He suddenly squeezes his eyes shut and leans against the wall, rubbing his temples. "Shit..." he mutters. "You okay?" "Yeah, I'm good," he says, shaking his head slightly. He ignores the pain and keeps moving through the hall. "Some guy got me good on the head. Hurts like a bitch." "And you're still able to shoot like that?" "When you've got skill, you got skill," he says simply. She leaves it at that and lets him lead the way. She's not sure where they're going until he stops at a seemingly random place in the hallway. But his reasons are explained when he pulls open a window. He sticks his head out and observes how high up they are. He nods approvingly and looks back to her. "It's clear on this side," he says. "You ready?" She nods, and he takes another glance outside. "Okay. There's a dumpster right there. I'll go first, open it up for you, and you can have a soft landing on top of all the garbage and whatever the hell else is in there." "Are you sure? I can go--" "Yeah, I got it." He takes a deep breath and sticks one foot out, then the other. His legs dangle over the edge and he takes a minute to look at the ground below. Just hard cement and a rusty dumpster under his feet. He closes his eyes, and jumps. He hits the cement hard, a brief pain shooting up his ankle and shin. He nearly stumbles but gains his footing so he doesn't completely topple over. Lucy looks down from the window, a concerned expression on her face, but he turns up to her and gives her a thumbs up. She takes this as her cue and positions herself on the windowsill. He opens up the dumpster, revealing a pile of black garbage bags. She doesn't hesitate to jump, and she lands on her knees amongst the bags. Duke is immediately at her side and helping her climb out. "You okay?" he asks as she steps onto the concrete, wiping dirt off of her hands. She assures him that she is and he begins his retreat, not totally sure where they'll end up. ---- Griffin paces around his office, chewing anxiously on his thumbnail. A few beads of sweat pop up here and there on his forehead as he argues with himself over his next course of action. He goes for the gun in his desk's top right drawer. It's nothing fancy--just a small pistol--but it'll did him more good than being left empty handed. He wonders where Chloe is. In the infirmary, maybe, or all the way up on their floor. Two completely opposite sides of the hotel. Still, she might not be there either. He accepts that he isn't going to be able to form a coherent plan with his limited time. But his ultimate goal is to find her, somehow. He puts his hand on the door handle and listens closely. He can hear a few gunshots, but not as many as he thought he would. There's mostly yelling, screaming, pleading. He opens the door to a wild scene of people being binded by their wrists and led out the lobby's front door. A few bodies lie on the ground, writhing with the pain of gunshots. He bolts left, where the infirmary should be after getting through the lobby and traversing a few corridors. He fires at a man with a black blazer, his shotgun held firmly in his hands; he grabs his stomach and falls onto his stomach, where his blood seeps into a steady pool around him. Griffin nearly trips on a body on the floor. Except, it's not dead. It's a woman, with a bullet in her side. She's steadily bleeding out, and she grabs at Griffin's pant leg. "What the--" he says, stumbling. He tugs his leg away, then feels a flood of shame as he looks down at her face. She pleads with him silently, but what can he do? He's steadied himself, just when he feels the wind knocked out of him. A hefty arm is wrapped around his throat, constricting any air from his lungs. Griffin drops his gun and takes a few desperate breaths. Someone else grabs his arms, forcing them behind his back. Then, he sees something. Chloe's familiar figure turning the corner into the lobby. He can't yell out, for obvious reasons, but he's unable to see her reaction either as a thick, cloth bag is put over his head, and everything goes black. ---- Chloe covers her hands with her mouth ahem she sees Griffin, right in the middle of his capture. Adam is right beside her, her only ally in this escape. He sees it, too, and gauges her reaction. Some tears fill her eyes immediately, but he grabs her by the arm. "We can't stay here," he warns, trying to pull her away. "They have him," she says. "And if we don't move, you're not gonna be so lucky either. I'm sorry, but come on." With a lump forming in her throat, she watches as Griffin is dragged away like a worthless doll. Reluctantly, she nods at Adam and they turn back, directly out of the mass hysteria of the lobby. "Where to?" she manages to say. "Not sure. The south end's way too crowded, and they're stationed out by the north end. The west end's facing tower 2...the east exit might be clear. Maybe." "What if it's not?" "If that's the case...we'll deal with that problem when we get to it." After living in the hotel for so long, they snake through the halls easily. They have a heavy advantage, since the attackers are obviously unfamiliar with the layout. They stay quiet, instead focusing on any sounds: approaching footsteps, the occasional gunshot... They make a final turn, and Adam stops suddenly. There's a slight breeze from an open window to his right. He rushes to it and looks down, where there's an open dumpster below. Looking up, he can see two figures in the distance, fleeing. Other than that, nothing. "Out here," he says. "We're jumping?" "It's not that high. And if you can land in that dumpster, you'll be good." Escaping through this window means leaving everything behind, but it's their only viable option for safety. She doesn't object. --- The pains in his leg is agonizing, so Cole has since halted his escape. He sits in the same hall, expecting them to search the rooms here any second. People walk over him, some even kicking him accidentally. He doesn't care, though, not in the slightest. He stays silent, motionless, until the harsh sounds of footsteps ascending the stairs echo down the corridor. A few people pick up speed, but it's no use because a round of bullets zip down the hall. They bounce off the walls; a few people drop to their knees, but some are hit. One woman gets a bullet to the back, another to the head. An older man with hair graying at the edges suddenly tumbles over, almost directly ontop of Cole. He has a hole in his neck, spurting with blood. Cole's first instinct is to help this man, but then he's disturbed by how quickly he disregards that idea. He's always surprised by how, whenever he's on the edge of giving up completely, he finds a way to bounce back again. So, instead of assisting the man, Cole grabs his body and lies it on top of his own. The effort drains the last of his energy, but he doesn't have to do much to play dead anyway. His skin is already a sickly gray color, and any movement causes him copious amounts of pain. He stays as still as he can, holding his breath as the men grab people and carry them away, kick down doors and search rooms quickly. They look to be in a hurry, and they place speed over thoroughness. They check the rooms in about a minute each and proceed further down the hall. Cole dares to peek out of one of his eyes, and sees that their are a few bodies lying around him. Easier for him to blend into the scenery. He snaps his eyes shut again as boots smash against the floor next to him, disregarding the bodies. He thinks they're gone, done with this floor and onto the next, but he doesn't take the chance of moving. He keeps still, until the man on top of him stirs. Cole immediately pushes him off with a grunt. He scoots backward on the carpeted floor, but his leg prevents him from doing so for more than a few seconds. He stares as the man's body twitches. A few other bodies around him do the same, emitting low, spine chilling growls. Of course, one threat gone but another takes its place. So much movement has made him dizzy, and newly turned infected attempting to stand blur across his vision. He stops for a second and rubs his eyes to get his bearings. Yet, it seems like he can't catch a break: he hears someone nearly sprinting up the stairs to this floor. Oddly, he hears a gasp, then someone crouches down next to him. "Cole. Oh, my God, you're alive," the person says. He turns his head and sees that it's Lienne. She's got a deep cut on her lip, but she still manages to grin at the sight of him, alive and well. "What're you doing up here?" he asks groggily. "I thought they'd been done checking the floor by now, so I--I came back up. I thought I could maybe hide in the rooms, or go back down the other stairwell--I don't know." "You gotta--you should think of something really soon, 'cause..." He gestures vaguely to the infected reaching out to them, bullet holes in different areas of their body. "Okay, come on," she says, pulling on his arm. "My knee, though--I fucked it up." "Bad?" "Yeah." "Shit. Okay. I can't--I can't drag you, Cole, you're like, fucking eight feet tall. Can you...can you stand at all?" she says. "I don't know." "I'll help you. Just try." Just the slightest pressure is put on his leg, and he sits back down, shaking his head. "No, none of that shit," she says. "If this is the last time you ever stand--ever--I don't care. Just know you really need to stand up." His cheeks are wet with tears, and he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. But he plants both feet on the ground and, with her grip firm on his arm, he rises from the floor, on the verge of unconsciousness. "Don't put any pressure on it, okay?" she says, and he nods weakly. She leads him to the nearest room, the door nearly hanging off its hinges. The furniture is turned over, the belongings of whoever once lived here tossed along the floor recklessly. Lienne goes to close the door, and Cole instead uses the wall for support. That is, until he can't muster the strength to stand anymore and he slumps to the ground with his head leaning back against the wall. The infected bang against the door but Lienne disregards that for now and rushes to his side. She places a gentle hand on his cheek. "Come on, Cole. Don't start dying now," she says. "I'm alive, I'm alive..." he mumbles, barely audible. "What happened to you?" She grazes her lip with her fingers and winces. "Some guy hit me. It's not that bad." "Find uh...uh--first aid, or something." "I'm fine. Stop worrying about me when you can barely talk. Just relax." He nods, and smiles faintly through the anguish. "Thank you," he says. "Wasn't gonna leave you out in the hall to get eaten alive. So don't mention it." She rises to her feet and scans the room. The banging on the door has halted somewhat, and she can hear the shuffling of feet dragging on carpet outside. There's a dresser, a mastress, a night stand, maybe a few more items she can begin forming into a barricade. She's tired, her lip aches, and the last thing she wants to do is exhaust herself even more. But she gets to work. ---- Griffin's world is dark. He can't see a thing. But he can hear the shuffling of feet, feel the cold air of whatever room he's in. Someone approaches him, and rips away the cloth bag that covers his head. Because of his kneeling position, the first thing he sees when his sight is restored is a pair of legs. He looks up slowly at the person looming over him, and his eyes meet Roxie's burning stare. From her, his gaze moves to the two men standing in front of a door. He surveys the rest of the area and concludes that he's been taken to the basement. "I hope you didn't forget about me," is the first thing she says. "Now, how in the world could I do that?" he says. His sarcastic response is answered with a punch to the mouth. He spits out a few bits of blood and looks back up at her. "Why are you doin' this?" he snaps are recovering from the blow. "You're done, you lost. You can't accept it, but you did." "I lost?" she says. "How did I'' lose? Who's the one on their knees right now, Griffin?" He's silent. "Do you hear that?" She stops speaking to let him focus on the noises from above. Gunshots, yelling, screaming, the occasional explosion. "That sounds like someone who just lost," she says. "How's it feel?" "I don't know. You've got first hand experience: How'd it feel when everything you owned burned to the fucking ground? You fucking bitch, you've got no right coming in here--" Before he can finish, she grabs her knife and smashes him in the nose with the hilt. He falls backwards, smashing his head on the concrete. He groans in pain, wiping the blood that gushes from his nose with his sleeve. She crouches down, grabs him by the shirt collar, and lifts him up, so he's on his knees again. His nose sits at an odd angle, and the bottom half of his face is nearly covered in dark-red blood. "Stop thinking you're a hero. No one's here to see you stand up for yourself. And even if anybody was, you think they'd ''care?" She laughs dryly. "They actually thought that you could a better job than that fuck-up Alexander. You thought you could. You tricked them, even made yourself think this place could last. But you forgot about me." "Why does that matter? Most of those people out there--they didn't do anything to you." "That's good to know. You want me to round everyone up and leave? Does that sound good? Stop being so stupid." He inhales sharply and lowers his head, his eyes fixed on the ground. He gives a small, disappointed shake of his head. All good things must come to an end, and, as far as he's concerned, he might as well be the cause of this destruction. "Alright. You won, there you go," Griffin says in a near whisper. Just those words tear apart his dignity, but they also bring a smile to her face. "I know. I think I made that pretty obvious," she says. He scoffs. "Yeah, you did. Now why the hell am I here? Wanted to do the dirty work yourself, yeah? Couldn't resist? Fuckin' get it over with, then." "I just need you to tell me one thing before I do. I've just gotta hear you say it," she says, leaning her face close to his. "Tell me that you give up." "You can never make things simple, can you?" "It's a really easy thing to say. Swallow those few ounces of pride you've got left, and spit it out." He spits at her feet, his final attempt at joke. "That good?" he asks, and she slaps him across the cheek without a moment's hesitation. He winces and shakes the pain away. "Guess not." "Just say it." "If I don't?" She grabs her knife and presses it to his throat. He nearly recoils, but stops himself. He shivers at the blade's cold metal but keeps his eyes locked on hers. "This is gonna be slow." He knows it's over. He's trapped. A quick movement of her hand is all it would take to slice is throat. And then it'd be over. He has a choice, though: keep his dignity for the last few moments or meet a quick, merciful end. But what dignity does he have left when he's already failed every person living here, every person caught in the catastrophe right above him? "Alright," he says, and he gulps loudly. "I give up. There. Go celebrate." She removes the knife from his neck, and he lets out the breath he's been holding in. He's confused by the small, almost sad smile on her face. Paired with the faraway look in her eyes, it makes her look absolutely insane. The two guards' eyes are fixed on them, observing the scene in silence. They're not completely sure what she's going to do next, but they should have expected it: She carefully aims the knife and plunges it into Griffin's heart. There's a quick burst of extreme agony, and then it's gone in an instant. Instead, he feels dizzy, a veil of darkness slowly clouding his vision. Slowly, slowly, slowly... ---- Jake saw her. Just a flash of her figure. But it was unmistakably her. If his life wasn't already fucked up before, he can blame her for ruining it for sure. With that single bullet to his mother's head. He's used his small stature to his advantage so far. Hiding behind overturned tables, under stairways, in small alcoves spread throughout the hotel. He doesn't think he's been spotted as of yet. He even found a gun on one of the dead attackers; he stole it and was gone again in just a matter of seconds. His initial plan was to find an escape route, to leave the Hyatt and never come back, even if it meant he was on his own. Especially if it meant finally escaping this pandemonium. Just the sight of Roxie changed all that. A goal of escape turned to one of vengeance now that he's so close to her and knows her whereabouts. She fled into the basement, two men flanking her and carrying another man with a bag over his head. Hiding under the escalator, he hasn't kept his eye off that door since. He waits, and he waits, and he waits, but she doesn't reappear from the basement. He's getting restless and a bit nervous. Around him, hostiles still capture the unlucky and search for any others. He can't keep pushing his luck like this. He's bound to be caught eventually. Whatever. He regards his life as pretty shitty anyway. Maybe this is the last thing he'll ever do that'll bring him any satisfaction. He crouches and lifts the stolen gun, aiming it directly at the basement door. He closes one eye and fires. He misses the knob completely, instead hitting a few inches above it. Again, he fires and misses. It takes a fourth try for the bullet to collide with the knob. It explodes in a metal mess, and immediately after, a man exits the basement. He looks a little flustered, waving his rifle around amateurly. Jake aims for him. Their eyes lock. It takes a second for the man to realize Jake has a gun. It's a second too late, because he soon falls to the ground with a bullet in his neck. Jake emerges from his hiding spot. He wants to be out in the open for as little time as possible, but also out of sight, so he moves briskly in a crouching position. He props open the door and peeks inside. He can see two silhouettes immediately. One is obviously a man, but the other's more feminine, hovering over something near the far wall. They both turn when the door opens, and Jake fires a wild shot, and a deep, painful growl follows afterward. He sees the man hit the floor, clutching his chest with a grimace. Roxie's eyes are wide, her expression a mix if anger and confusion. She may be even a little impressed. She stands up straight and takes a step forward. But she halts, hands in the air, when he directs his aim toward her. "Who the hell are you?" she asks. He finds that he can't answer her. His vision swims in red, his body flooded with an anger he's containing by its last thread. His hands shake. His eyes burn. She tilts her head slightly, observing him. "Why do you look familiar?" she says softly. He swallows hard. He finds it painful just to look at her. "I was there when y-you killed my mom," he explains. His voice is surprisingly level. His stutter is even suppressed some. "I've killed so many people, I honestly don't remember who the hell your mom is." "It was in front of the g-gates. You picked her out of the c-crowd, and I told her n-not to go. But you made her." Recognition flashes across her face and she lowers her arms, folding them across her chest instead. "The fat bitch was your mom. Right." He contains himself from pulling the trigger; how he's done so for so long, he's not sure. Until he hears his mother's familiar words. "It doesn't matter how much they pick at you, it doesn't matter how much you hate them, Jake. You never sink to their level. '''Ever.'" He squeezes his eyes shut quickly. When he opens them again, a few tears spill over. "I bet you've wanted to kill me since then," she continues. He nods. "Then what are you doing?" He's silent. His arms feel weighed down by the weight of the gun. "What's your name?" she asks. "Jake." "Jake. Okay, Jake. I'm gonna pretend I'm you. I'm gonna pretend I'm this little kid who just saw his mom's brains all over the floor. So, I'm this kid, and I bet I'd be lying awake at night, every night, ''fantasizing about killing the bitch that took his sweet little mom away. I wouldn't want anyone else to do it. I'd want to do it for myself. Because that's how life works, right? If someone wrongs me, is it not just...human nature to want to snap their neck? See them suffer, maybe?" "It is." "Don't let them get to you." "See? You agree with me. And that's what I find absolutely fucking hilarious. You might as well be me, Jake. I murdered your mom, right in front of your damn face, and you have more in common with me then the last five guys I've been with. The person you hate with everything you have. We could switch places, and we'd feel the same way. We hate something so fucking much, and all we want...is for everything to be right again." "Don't let them get in your head." "Stop. I'm not--I'm nothing l-like you," he says. She moves forward apprehensively. When he doesn't make a move, she takes a few more confident steps. "Where we're different, Jake, is that I got my revenge already. I just did." Jake's eyes catch a glimpse of Griffin's body for just a second. "For months, this is all I wanted. For months, this is all I thought about...and now it's done." He voice sounds distant, as if she's not really talking to him. But he still listens intently. "You know that feeling when you wait so long for something...and you finally get it?" she continues. "Then when you get it you'd thought it be the most amazing thing...but it isn't?" What she does next surprises him. He knows he should shoot her, but her demeanor isn't threatening at all. So he lets her walk forward, until she even grabs his wrist gently. She lifts the gun a little higher so the barrel presses against her forehead. "Suicide's a sin. Wouldn't want to go to hell, right?" she says flatly. She even chuckles a little. It's a laugh that sends chills through his body. His heartbeat quickens, but the trembling of his hands stops, now that he knows she's not planning to hurt him. Now, the opportunity he's wanted for so long has been handed to him on a silver platter. Yet, he's hesitating. "You're not like them. You're better than them." He lets his finger fall back on the trigger. His ears ring from the gunshot, and he wipes the blood from his face before looking down at her crumpled form. She was wrong. That's where she and him differ. This felt more amazing than he thought it would. He smiles. It's a genuine smile. The first one he's had long time. Trivia *This is the author's favorite issue. *THIS ISSUE IS DEDICATED TO DANNY. Category:Dead Frontier Category:Dead Frontier Issues Category:Issues Category:Walkerbait22's Stories